Expedition Training Voyager to Croper's Cove: I'll make a Marine Out of You!

[FinnianBrightfur]

"Thought we were just signin’ up for some drills. Didn’t think it’d feel quite so much like boot camp..."

Finn stifled a bark of a laugh, and fumbled to keep the tension on the laces as he tied them up at the back. "Oh c'mon, it's Alwyn! What did you expect?" he said in a hushed (and yet still playful) voice. The foxkit had a slightly mischevious streak building in him this voyage, and seemed to be pushing the envelope a little with what he could get away with. Nevertheless, Alwyn had sharp hearing, and seemed to be in a mood to... creatively punish those who were stepping out of line. Finn would have to be careful. Fortunately, he was busy taking care of Vihma, and Finn was positive the whisper would go unnoticed.

Once Swift had been laced up, Finn switched places with him, and lifted his arms up over his head as the training armor was placed on him.

"You holdin’ up alright?"

"Yeh, I'll be fine as long as y'don't bash my snoot in!" he hissed back, a cocky grin spreading around the corner of his muzzle.

Trotting up to the group, Finn quickly ran a paw through his tail to make sure there weren't any tufts of fur matted together by anything. The group seemed to have caught the tacit confession from Vihma, and there was a bawdy chorus of mock surprise from the marines.

But as far as Finny was concerned, Vihma and Morgan were just really good friends.

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

Alwyn’s demonstration continued with surprising deftness as Swifttail let the deck breathe around him. The comb worked through Vihma’s fur with a care that stood in quiet contrast to the barked fury from earlier. The marines leaned in, some curious, some sheepish, some trying not to look as though they were taking mental notes.

Swift did the same in his own way.

He lifted a paw and raked his claws lightly through his chest fur, smoothing it down the grain, then ran them once through the base of his tail to settle any stray lift. He’d brushed properly that morning, but there was no harm in making sure. A quick adjustment to the line of his collar, a firm tug at one strap, and he arched his back a touch straighter.

Beside him, Finn’s earlier whisper echoed back at him.

"Oh c’mon, it’s Alwyn! What did you expect?"

Swift shot the kit a sideways look and rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Aye. That’s the trouble, innit?" he murmured under his breath.

When Finn shot back about not bashing his snoot in, Swift huffed a quiet laugh and gave him a light thump against the shoulder plate.

"Then don’t go stickin’ yer snoot in front o’ me blade, mate."

The words were playful, but there was steadiness beneath them. He let his shoulder rest briefly against Finn’s, grounding more than bracing.

"Stick close. Same as Urk."

No speeches. No drama. Just fact.

The ripple of laughter that followed Vihma’s hesitant confession carried easily across the light sea air. Swift’s ears flicked toward it, his gaze shifting without turning his head fully. He watched the flush bloom beneath her tawny fur, the way she held herself upright despite the teasing chorus.

He understood that particular heat.

Discipline was easier than affection aboard a ship — with its close quarters, gossiping tongues, and little privacy. Discipline was simpler. Cleaner. Easier to measure.

His thoughts drifted, briefly, to Morgan, and he wondered how she might take the laughter if it cut too deep. While not his place to intervene, he marked it quietly in his mind, the way he marked many things these days.

He shifted his weight and nudged Finn once more, lighter this time.

"We’ll manage," he said, low enough for only the kit to hear.

The grindstone might turn hard before the day was done. Alwyn would soon call them upward again into endless drills and strain.

Swift settled into the worn leather at his shoulders and stood ready.

Whatever came next, they would face it as they always had — side by side, steady and unbroken.